


Tell Me What You See

by mvernet



Series: The Blond Beatle Affair [10]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Missing Scene, Russian Curses, Songfic, The Beatles - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is trying to get to his lost Russian before he becomes a mindless slave to the cruel Admiral Marinesko.</p><p>A songfic inspired by <i>Tell Me What You See</i> by The Beatles.<br/><i>Tell Me What You See</i> performed by Alejandra Burgos<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBci8VZ0Jz0</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me What You See

**Author's Note:**

> I was unable to find a vid of The Beatles performing this song, so I tried listening to some covers. The universe smiled upon me once again when I found this music video with graphics that had a black 1959 Ford seemingly searching for someone. I freaked out because it looked to me like Napoleon searching for his Illya. The artist is Alejandra Burgos who is originally from Argentina. (Another Alex, Universe?)
> 
> ~~~O~~~
> 
>  
> 
> _Dedicated to my all powerful beta and best friend, Spencer5460, who practically co-authored this one. Thank you for working your magic._
> 
>  
> 
> ~~~O~~~

Listen to me one more time, how can I get through?  
Can't you try to see that I'm trying to get to you?  
Open up your eyes now, tell me what you see  
It is no surprise now, what you see is me  
~The Beatles~

The plane from New York to Moscow landed on time at the brand new Domodedovo International Airport. Napoleon was pretty sure the choice of an airport not yet open to most Russian travelers was due to him and his current mission. Find Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, bring him home and try to avoid an international incident. Illya had sulked his way into Brezhnev’s Russian heart and the General was personally seeing to it that Agent Napoleon Solo had everything he needed. He was grateful for the help, but uncomfortable in his skin. Napoleon was well aware that although the wind was blowing his way today, he and Illya could be dead tomorrow, all at the whim of the great Soviet Union and its politics.

The very real wind at the airport had a touch of Siberia in it. Napoleon cinched the belt of his black raincoat tighter. He looked up at the white windsock rustling in the breeze above the red Russian flag. He shivered and wondered if his Solnyshka was cold. He wouldn’t let himself think of Illya as anything but alive and waiting for him with a witty quip on his lips. Napoleon opened the trunk of the 1959 black Ford Fairlane that had been thoughtfully provided by General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev to help him in his search for his lost partner. He smirked at the familiar feel of thick American steel under his hand. He felt a connection to the American icon. They both were definitely out of place, but would do their duty. 

Napoleon inspected the contents of the trunk. An extensive first aid kit, blankets, canteens filled with water and some non-perishable food took up a corner of the massive trunk. A spare tire, jack and a filled tool box were all in their proper place. The KGB tracking device hidden beneath the brake light wires seemed to be in working order too, but Napoleon elected not to bring it to the attention of his charming hosts. As long as the KGB did not interfere with him getting to Illya, they could track him all they wanted.

Napoleon closed the trunk and ran his fingers appreciatively over the fins that marked the car as a classic, American-made beauty. A tall thin man with dark hair and darker eyes walked towards him wearing the uniform of a KGB officer. Napoleon stood tall, straightened his expensive silk tie and tugged at the the snug sleeves of his raincoat. Illya said he looked like the hero of a cheap dime store spy novel in this coat. His lip twitched as he imagined he felt Illya’s disdain. Seemed appropriate, though. Napoleon liked to look intimidating when confronted by a sheep in wolf's clothing.

“Agent Solo. Allow me to introduce myself. Sergey Alexandrovich Komarov, at your service.” He held out his hand. Napoleon smiled and shook it. He was glad Komarov greeted him American style. He could handle making nice with secret police for Illya’s sake, but he would have hated to kiss one of them.

“The General Secretary has asked me to give you all the support you need to retrieve Agent Kuryakin. I met him. A great loss to the Motherland, but a great gain for the world. Nyet? Everything satisfactory?”

Napoleon took an instant dislike to this man. It irked him to hear Illya reduced to some sort of commodity.

“Yes. I do need some good maps of the area one hundred miles north of Moscow. We have tracked Agent Kuryakin there.”

“Of course. I believe the glove box has what you need. You are sure you wish to go alone? I could provide a guide or a full escort…”

“Thank you, no. I work only with my partner, Agent Kuryakin. Which means I will be working alone till I… retrieve him as you said.”

“Very well. Do not hesitate to contact me if you need my assistance, Agent Solo. My card is also in the glove box.” Komarov bowed and walked away.

Napoleon sighed heavily as he keyed the engine of the Ford and headed north. Napoleon watched the kilometer markers at the side of the newly paved road. After four kilometers he looked behind him. He searched for the telltale dust cloud of a car. There was no sign of a tail.

“You’re good, Komarov. Keeping your distance I see.”

At the five kilometer marker, Napoleon pulled to the side of the road. One reason he didn’t want an escort was that his coat was a veritable armory of ingenious’ Illya’ gadgets. Komarov might easily turn into his worst enemy if he caught sight of some of the more interesting items. He pulled Illya’s GPM out of his raincoat pocket, placed it on the roomy dash and turned it on. In a moment the black dot indicating Illya’s position pulsed on and off like a beating heart. Napoleon watched the dot hoping he would soon feel Illya’s warm heart pulse under his own hand. He shook away the thought. He had to watch his emotions. This was an extraction mission. One of many he had under his belt. He knew he could do it in his sleep. He gave one more look behind him then pulled out his new communicator pen.

“Open channel K. Open channel K. Sam? Can you read me?”

It took a moment for the static to clear, but Sam’s strong voice could be heard loud and clear over the special channel they had established for this mission.

“Solo. Yes, we’re good. Where are you exactly?”

“Five kilometers north of Domodedovo Airport. On the main road.” 

“Our boy still in the same position?”

Napoleon glanced at the black dot still blinking on the screen. “Affirmative.”

“Give me a moment, hot shot.”Napoleon frowned at his communicator. He heard voices and the rustling of papers. He opened the glove box and unfolded Komarov’s map while he waited.

Sam was slightly out of breath when he returned. “We’ve coordinated efforts here. Been up all night. Mindy in linguistics, Candy in communications, Beverly in travel, Wendy in Information and Bradley in aerial photography.”

“Bradley?” Napoleon said before he could stop himself. He cringed.

“Yes, hot shot. Bradley’s the one who pinpointed the house where that ratfink is keeping our boy after everyone else researched and called and…”

“You can lead me right to him?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m saying, you idiot! If you ever paid attention to the workings of this place instead of looking under every skirt you could find…”

“Sam! We can’t waste any time! Illya might…” Napoleon bit his lip. He could not get emotional!

“Sorry, Solo. Take the main road to kilometer marker 144. Then turn right onto an unmarked road exactly half a mile further on. That road will take you two miles in a circuitous route around the banks of a small tributary. The house should be on your left. It has a long, gravel drive. Wendy said It was built in 1875 as a summer home. Bradley said it is large, Victorian-style house with lots of towers and various rooflines. Mindy said it was described by a local as a gaudy, green monument to decadence.”

Napoleon closed his eyes, truly grateful that these people had worked so many sleepless hours trying to locate his partner. 

“Sam, tell everyone thank you for me.”

“Yes, well. Just bring him home. Be safe. Channel K out.”

Napoleon started the car and glanced again at the black dot on the small radar screen.

“Keep that heart beating Illya, it belongs to me.” 

The kilometers moved quickly under the old tank’s chrome rimmed wheels. Napoleon had nothing to do but drive and worry.

~~~O~~~

If you let me take your heart I will prove to you  
We will never be apart if I'm part of you

~~~O~~~

Napoleon tapped on the steering wheel with his fingers as he increased his speed with his foot. He couldn’t chance overheating, but the old Ford was responsive under his seat.

“Illya.” he sent the name out the open window, like a prayer sent spiraling into the wind. “Solnishko, my heart. Be alright.”

Napoleon grabbed the crank and opened the window wider so that the cold air tousled his hair and took his breath away.

“When did you do it, partner mine? When did my heart becomes yours and yours mine? I can feel your heart beating in my chest, Illya. How is it possible, my brilliant Russian, that you have become a part of me? I would have gladly died for you. Even on that first day. But when was it that I began to live for you, Illya?”

Napoleon stole some deep breaths from the harsh cold breeze of a Russian spring.

“Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin! Live for me!” He shouted out the window so that even the sun could hear his command.

~~~O~~~

Napoleon found the old, rambling summer house easily and parked the car where it would not be seen. He kept to the wooded area on the north side of the house and crept his way cautiously up to the kitchen door. Brezhnev’s black limousine in which they had abducted Illya had been exchanged en route for a nondescript, dark blue town car. Napoleon felt the hood and found it cool under his hand. They had been here awhile. The thought made him uneasy. He looked in the kitchen window.

Napoleon noted the strong muscular arms and chest of a mustached man who was humming and making a stew. Napoleon clicked his gun to the sleep dart setting, opened the door and fired. The strongman fell, knocking carrots and potato chunks all over the kitchen floor as he went down. Napoleon carefully stepped over the mess of man and vegetables and entered a long hall.

He felt like he had entered a church. Tall, stained glass windows lined the hall, the most magnificently crafted of which was letting in the afternoon sun at the far end. The soft, diffused colors made one feel insignificant and a bit intimidated, which was most likely the point of all the splendor.

Napoleon made his way down the hall toward the main staircase. Gun in hand, he climbed the wide oak steps. The deep blood-red carpeting silenced his footfalls. He stopped at the massive landing which held a small chapel, complete with a piano forte, pews and a dusty family bible open on an oak stand. Scowling faces were carved into the wood trim of the chapel. Napoleon had noticed faces carved in almost every corner of this forbidding house. He imagined Illya saying, “Very unsettling for a spy.” He almost smiled.

He turned the corner and heard a sound. A growl. Then leather hitting flesh and a man in pain. Illya.

He flew toward the sounds and in mere seconds stood in the doorway of an immense and ornate bedroom. He was horrified to see his beloved Illya tied to the bed and being cruelly flogged by a monster of a man. Illya’s beautiful chest was striped with blood. Napoleon’s determination to hold in his emotions dissolved at the scene. 

“Lift that belt again and you’ll be missing a hand, you scum!” Napoleon snarled as he lifted his gun. .

Admiral Marinesko dropped the bloodied belt and turned to face the man with the gun, now aimed directly at his heaving chest. Marinesko’s eyes grew wide with fear.

Napoleon’s eyes flicked to Illya. He was conscious, but just barely. He had to be in great pain but his expression was vague. Napoleon could only imagine he was holding back for his rescuer’s sake. He motioned to Marinesko with the gun. 

“Release him.”

Marinesko fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He moved stiffly to Illya as if in a trance and slowly undid the cuffs that bound his wrists and the chains at his feet. The hideous bonds fell away with satisfying thuds. Illya only moved his head and moaned softly. 

The sound pulled at Napoleon’s heart.

“Illya?”

A quiet, “‘Poley found.” was his only answer.

“Step away from him,” Napoleon directed as he fought to keep a tremor of emotion from his voice.

Napoleon saw the five syringes on the marble-topped dresser and noticed that two were empty. He walked over to examine them more closely. With the gun never wavering from its aim at Marinesko, he picked up a full one.

“What did you give him?” Napoleon’s stern inquiry demanded an immediate answer.

“I don’t know!”

Napoleon stalked menacingly closer to Marinesko, until the gun was only inches from his ribs, and spoke through clenched teeth.

“Shall I try it on you and see what it does?”

“Nyet! Nyet!” Marinesko raised his trembling hands in surrender. “I don’t know the chemical, I bought it on the black market. It is supposed to make a man obey you without question.”

Napoleon smirked. “And you used it on Illya? The man who questions a sunny day? You are a fool.” His tone turned to frost as cold rage coursed through his system. He couldn’t control it any longer. He had to release it.

_“Svoloch!”_

Napoleon squeezed the trigger of his gun and and took perverse pleasure in watching Marinesko react to what he believed was his imminent death. His features screwed up in terror as he crumbled to the floor, a sleep dart buried where his heart should have been.

Illya, his face turned away from the door, smiled and said softly, “‘Poley, take care Illy.”

Napoleon hastily holstered his gun and ran to Illya’s side. He sat on the bed and removed the handcuffs and ankle chains the rest of the way, throwing them at Marinesko’s unconscious form. He gently lowered Illya’s arms and massaged them. His eyes burned as he examined Illya’s other injuries, including his ankles that had been rubbed raw against the chains.

~~~O~~~

Open up your eyes now, tell me what you see  
It is no surprise now, what you see is me

~~~O~~~

“Illya? Illya? Open your eyes for me. Please, Illya?” Napoleon continued rubbing his arms, then took Illya’s hands in his and examined his torn and bloody wrists.

“Oh, baby. I’m so, so sorry.” Napoleon let a few tears fall onto Illya’s face. Illya’s eyes fluttered open. He weakly squeezed Napoleon’s hand.

“No, cry, ‘Poley.”

Illya’s voice was rough and dry, yet sweetly childlike. Napoleon looked into his eyes, but found they were far away. The pupils so big and black that the crystal blue rims were nearly gone. He gently fingered Illya’s earring, overwhelmed with gratitude that Illya was alive and the shiny diamond stud had led him here in time. The alternative was unthinkable. 

“Illya? Do you see me? Tell me what you see.”

Illya raised a shaking hand to Napoleon’s face. He caressed his cheek and smiled dreamily. 

“‘Poley. found. Poley, kill white wolf. Illy love Poley” Illya tried to move and hissed. “Hurts. Illy go Sasha.” He closed his eyes and fell into what seemed like unconsciousness.

“Oh, God, Illya! No! Come back. See me Illya! I need you to see me!”

Napoleon heard footsteps in the hall. He pulled his gun back out and pointed it at the door. He wiped his eyes dry with his other hand. He suddenly knew who it was.

“Agent Solo! Please to put down the gun. It is only I, Komarov. And my driver. And two other officers. And a doctor.”

Napoleon put his gun away. “How many cars _did_ you have following me?”

“Only three. You said you worked alone. In Russia that _is_ alone.”

Napoleon chuckled sadly and turned back to Illya. He placed a hand on his head and petted his matted yet still golden hair.

“The doctor will be up shortly. How is your partner?”

“The bastard drugged him with something to make him compliant, then beat him.” Napoleon swallowed his anger in order to continue speaking. He took Illya’s hand in his. “He sounded very strange, I think he’s lost in his mind.”

Komarov nodded and walked up to Marinesko on the floor. He kicked him hard in the ribs.

“Is this one dead?”

“No. I used a standard U.N.C.L.E. drug dart on him and the big fellow downstairs. They should wake up in about four hours.”

“Pity. So much more paperwork this way. It is easier to fill out death certificates.”

Napoleon shivered at the insinuated probable demise of Marinesko and his driver. He instinctively inched closer to Illya and put his body between Komarov and his partner.

Komarov stepped out into the hall and snapped his fingers. Two large junior officers were immediately by his side. 

“Take this filth out of here and put him in the kitchen with the other. Strip him of his uniform. He disgraces it. Then send up the doctor. Oh, and there is no need to be careful of the swine, comrades.”

They picked up Marinesko between them and dragged him out. Komarov followed. Illya opened his eyes.

“‘Poley?”

Napoleon puzzled over the strange way Illya was talking. “I’m here. Illya. Right here. It’s over partner.”

“White wolf?”

“Marinesko? In the hands of the KGB.”

Illya frowned slightly. “Want go home. Pleeeeease, ‘Poley. Home. Home.”

“It’s alright, Illya. I’ll take you home. A doctor is going to examine you and if he says so, you and I will be on the next plane to New York…”

“Nyet! Nyet! Home! Home!”

Illya became very agitated. He tried to get up. Napoleon wrapped his arms around him.

“Illya! You’re alright. I have you. I’ll protect you! Lay back down, baby.” 

Illya stopped struggling and melted into Napoleon’s arms. Illya buried his head in Napoleon’s chest and started to sob. “Hurts. Hurts. Illy go Sasha.”

It was then Napoleon began to put it together in his mind. Illya had gone to his place of tranquility. Illya had gone to be with his big brother, Sasha. The thought saddened Napoleon and frightened him, too. What if Illya never came back to him? Napoleon held him close.

“Don’t go. Illya. Stay with _me._ ”

“Make hurts go ’way, ‘Poley.”

“Soon, baby. Soon. I...I have to get the doctor to…”

Illya slumped in his arms. He went to look for Sasha.

~~~O~~~

Illya found the meadow quickly. It glowed with sunshine, masses of delicate butterflies and the bright yellow of wild daffodils. Big brother was gathering a bouquet. He already had an armful of cheerful flowers. Sasha smiled and beckoned his little brother to come closer with his free hand. Illya grinned and ran to him.

“Illy help!”

“I’m picking flowers for Mama. It’s almost time for me to go home.” Sasha pointed to a nearby hill. A man and a woman stood at the top holding hands and looking down on the two boys.

“Illy come too?”

Sasha plucked a newly-opened daffodil from the ground and handed it to Illya.

“Silly Illy. Your home is with Napoleon. Now, give big brother kisses and go to ‘Poley. You are making him very sad.” 

Illya plopped himself down in the rich, fragrant soil and put on his very best sulky face. He stuck out his lower lip and crossed his arms being careful not to harm his flower.

“Hurts. They hurts Illy.”

Sasha crouched in front of his sulky brother and petted his head.

“I know. They hurt Sasha too, long ago. I know it hurts to go back. But do you really want to leave Napoleon all on his own?”

Illya lowered his head and shook it.

“Nyet. Illy loves ‘Poley. Illy take care him.”

Sasha stood and looked towards the hill. The man put a hand to his mouth. A clear, piercing whistle drifted across the meadow. 

“Papa whistles. I must go now.”

Illya scrambled to his feet. He hugged his big brother and stood on tiptoes to kiss both his cheeks the way grownups always did. Sasha kissed him back.

“I will be here in the meadow if the white wolf comes again. I love you, little brother. Forever.”

Sasha turned and walked towards the hill. A big black cloud crept towards the sun making all the colors of the meadow shades of gray. Illya turned away clutching his daffadil to his heart.

~~~O~~~

Big and black the clouds may be, time will pass away  
If you put your trust in me I'll make bright your day  
Look into these eyes now, tell me what you see  
Don't you realise now, what you see is me  
Tell me what you see

~~~O~~~

Napoleon laid Illya back down as gently as possible. He heard someone clear their throat with a “Hummmph.” Napoleon looked to the doorway in time to see what looked like a Russian bearded doppleganger of Alexander Waverly enter the room, a stethoscope around his neck. One of Komarov’s men was behind him holding an old-fashioned carpet bag.

“Agent Solo? I am Doctor Waldemar Haffkine. Move aside. This poor little _shpion_ has waited long enough for treatment.”

Napoleon couldn’t help but smile at the gruff, fatherly manner of the doctor, so like Waverly. He stood and quickly moved out of the way.

The doctor sat on the bed and felt for his patient's pulse. He warmed the stethoscope with a gnarled hand for a moment, then listened to Illya’s heart. He shook his head at the red welts and cuts across Illya’s chest. He placed a palm on Illya’s brow. Illya moaned and whispered, “Sasha.” 

“There, there, little _shpion._ Your heartbeat is a little slow for one in such a business.” The doctor gently drew back Illya’s eyelids and studied his eyes. “Where are you, little _shpion,_ humm?”

Doctor Haffkine turned to Napoleon to say something, but instead looked him up and down.

“You! Tough American spy! Take off that silly coat. Sit in that rocking chair over there and loosen your tie. You will do your partner no good if you become faint.”

Napoleon did as he was told. Relief washed over him. This man he could trust.

The doctor turned to the man hovering in the hall.

“Bring the bag here to me. Open it. Then go to the kitchen, put a large pot of water on the boil. Do not wait for it to boil. Bring me immediately a pitcher of cold water and a three glasses. Then return to the kitchen and bring me the boiling water and six clean towels. Do I make myself clear, comrade?”

The young man stuttered and bowed as Napoleon watched in amusement.

The doctor addressed Napoleon again.

“I am aware of all that has happened to this young man and who you both are. I am familiar with the drug given to your partner. It is a Belladonna derivative with some nasty base ingredients added. Its effect is cumulative but eventually wears off. He had how many injections?”

“Two, I believe.”

“Good. It should be out of his system within two weeks, I believe. What concerns me is his lack of responsiveness.” The old man gazed thoughtfully at Illya’s far-away expression. 

“I think, perhaps, your friend has used a technique he was trained to use when being tortured, da? He has reverted to a safe place in his mind?” 

The doctor glanced at Napoleon who was nodding. “Yes, I think so.” 

“Ahhh. Dangerous to play with the brain.” Dr. Heffkine muttered as if to himself. “Such a technique combined with a personality altering drug like this one could cause much damage. I have seen a case where the man never came back.”

Napoleon paled at the doctor’s assessment.

“But that man, Agent Solo, did not have much of a life to come back to,” he reassured him.

The doctor took some time then to examine Illya’s wounds in earnest. “These are not severe, but they are very painful. None of these cuts need stitches. One rib is cracked but not broken. He has no internal injuries.”

The doctor frowned at the cigarette burn. He spoke softly to Illya again.

“Little _shpion._ You have had a bad day, da? But you should not hide from those who wish to help you.” He patted Illya’s cheek. “Open your eyes little _shpion._ Your friend is waiting for your return.”

Komarov’s man entered with a large pitcher of water and three glasses. He deposited them on a table near the bed, bowed again and hurried downstairs. Napoleon noticed the house was very quiet. 

Doctor Haffkine poured a glass of water for Illya. He raised Illya’s head and gently brought the glass to his lips. Illya seemed to respond slightly to the refreshing coolness on his parched lips and began to drink. His eyelids fluttered but did not open.

“Stubborn, this little blond _shpion!_ He is not unconscious or asleep. Just as stubborn as Russian goat. I will clean and bandage his wounds and when he is comfortable, I give him stimulant that will counteract the Belladonna. Hopefully, that should bring him around. If so, you may take him on the plane to New York tonight.”

Doctor Haffkine put down Illya’s glass and settled him back on the pillow. He reached into his bag and brought out a bottle of vodka. He poured two glasses and stood as he handed one of the glasses to Napoleon.

“Drink! You are in shock from long travel and worry for your partner.”

The doctor went to a pile of well worn quilts on top of an old wooden trunk at the end of the bed. He picked up a red calico one and spread it over Illya. He took a green calico quilt and placed it across Napoleon’s lap, drawing a warm smile from the cool American spy.

The doctor chuckled and reached for his vodka.

~~~O~~~

When the hot water finally arrived, the doctor efficiently washed Illya and tended to his wounds. He applied varied salves and anti-bacterial ointments. He demanded and received clean, warm clothes for him. Napoleon dressed his partner with care as Doctor Haffkine readied an injection.

Illya was like a rag doll in Napoleon’s arms. He pulled a white t-shirt over Illya’s bandaged chest. He glanced at the doctor and when he was sure he was looking away, he placed a kiss lightly on the gauze covered cigarette burn. Then he held Illya close a moment and whispered in his ear.

“You come back to me you stubborn Russian. Give me back my heart. I promise I’ll love you more than Sasha ever could. I love you, baby. Open your eyes and you’ll see it in my eyes. You’ll see me loving you with all that I _am._ ” 

~~~O~~~

Listen to me one more time, how can I get through?  
Can't you try to see that I'm trying to get to you?  
Open up your eyes now, tell me what you see  
It is no surprise now, what you see is me  
Tell me what you see

~~~O~~~

Napoleon quickly kissed Illya’s earlobe, the diamond stud cold against his lips. One more kiss to a pale cheek and he lay him down on the bed. There was no reaction. Napoleon reached for a folksy, black, hand knit sweater that looked like it would keep a snowman warm, or a little blond partner.

“Wait. I give him injection now while his arm is free of that hideous sweater. I want him to see your face when he awakes. Someone he trusts from home. He is so far from home, poor little _shpion._ ”

Doctor Haffkine tapped Illya’s vein and swiftly injected the stimulant into his bloodstream. Illya stirred and mumbled, “Nyet, nyet.” He began to pant and shake. Napoleon put his hand over Illya’s heart.

“Open up your eyes, now. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Open your eyes and see me, Illya Nichoveth Kuryakin!”

Illya’s eyes popped open. He grabbed for Napoleon’s hand and held it to his chest. 

“Napoleon?” he panted. Illya’s eyes were bright and clear.

Napoleon smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

“Tell me what you see, baby.”

Illya looked around. “We are still in Russia?”

“Yes, baby.”

“You. You I see. You are here to rescue me and take me home?”

“Oh, yes, baby!”

“There is a strange doppelganger of Uncle Alex behind you with a big needle in his hand?”

Napoleon laughed. “Allow me to introduce, Dr. Waldemar Haffkine. He gave you a stimulant to bring you back from…” Napoleon brushed his fingers through Illya’s hair, then placed his opened palm on Illya’s flushed cheek. “Where were you, baby?”

Illya leaned into his touch. “I… I…. was in my place of tranquility, with my brother. He took me to a treehouse, kept me safe,” he said simply, knowing Napoleon would understand. He looked at Napoleon’s face and wiped away a few tears he found there.

“I’m back, Napoleon,” he said kindly. “But one thing is a great puzzle to me.”

“What is it, baby?”

“What makes you think I would ever allow you to call me baby?”

Dr. Haffkine threw back his head and laughed. Napoleon tried to scowl, but joined the doctor and laughed instead. He laid his forehead on Illya’s chest. Illya petted his hair affectionately.

~~~O~~~

Illya was already showing signs of becoming annoyed at all the fussing. Napoleon carried him to the waiting car where he was ensconced in the spacious passenger seat, covered and tucked in with the red and green calico quilts. The beating and the chains had left Illya’s feet painfully swollen. He could not put on his boots, so Napoleon had covered his feet with two pair of warm socks and some roomy house slippers. All Illya’s things, including his missing suitcase and broken communicator, had mysteriously found their way to the trunk. A wheelchair for the trip was folded in the back seat. 

Napoleon and the doctor were still conversing outside Illya’s open window.

“Keep him warm. The shot I gave the little blond _shpion_ should last six to eight hours. He needs to stay awake. Give him coffee or tea or chocolate. Lots of water. He is dehydrated. When he says he feels hungry, feed him. Do not leave him alone. Do not allow him to walk. He may faint if he changes position or stands too quickly. Do not panic if he does, just bring him around with the smelling salts I provided and feed him more chocolate.”

Napoleon nodded, taking it all very seriously. It was a long flight home and he was worried about Illya’s condition.

Illya rolled his eyes, crossed his arms and sulked. “I’m right here, Doctor Haffkine. I have not gone deaf or imbecilic!” 

“And who is the little blond _shpion_ who got himself in so much trouble so far from home? I will give my instructions to your brave, American partner who saved you!”

Illya sighed and ducked his head as if to hide a smile. But he couldn’t hide it from Napoleon. He could tell that Illya secretly liked the doctor and the comfy quilts wrapped around him by Napoleon’s loving hands. Illya cautiously took the red calico fabric between his aching fingers and held it closer.

Doctor Haffkine continued. He handed Napoleon an envelope. “The filled syringe Marinesko had is here, minus the needle. Give it to your lab technicians for analysis. I have also written the name and dosage of stimulant I gave him. They should be able to give him something for the pain after they check his blood. No alcohol, of course.”

The doctor placed a hand on Illya’s shoulder and addressed him. “It will be a hard trip for you. I am sorry I can not relieve your pain at this time, little _shpion_.”

Illya reached up and patted the hand. “I’m fine, doctor. Thank you for helping me come back.”

Doctor Haffkine smiled. He straightened and clasped Napoleon’s hand. _“Khoroshaya poyezdka, moi druz’ya!”_ He walked towards his car where the driver had opened the door. Before he got in he called, “Tell Alexander I want an update on Agent Kuryakin as soon as possible and tell him he owes me a drink!”

Napoleon waved and watched as the doctor’s car drove away. He wondered how Waverly came to know the good doctor. He doubted he would ever know. Napoleon mentally added yet another footnote to his, _How To Be A Good Number One Section One_

 _Make and keep good friends all over the world._ He smiled. He already had a head start on that one.

The crunch of tires on gravel gave way to eerie silence as Napoleon climbed into the driver’s seat of the Ford.

“Alone at last, Solnishko.”

“Napoleon? About Marinesko. Do you think the KGB…”

“Yes. I do. I think they have already taken care of the… problem.”

“Oh.” Illya clutched at the red calico quilt as if a cold blast of air had found him. He shivered. “I want to go home, Napoleon.”

Napoleon looked over at his partner who was staring back at the old house. He looked small and vulnerable wrapped in those quilts. Like a sulky blond Christmas elf with a bad head cold. Napoleon smiled at the thought he would never voice. Instead he reached under the seat and produced a thermos and some chocolate bars. He poured out a steaming cup of coffee.

“Here, Illya. Drink this before we start. It will warm you up.”

“Nyet. I do not want it.”

“Illya…”

Illya turned and glared at Napoleon. His face twitched with a myriad of emotions vying for predominance. A deep sadness won out and made his eyes turn a darker shade of pure blue.

Napoleon put the hot coffee down on the dash. Steamy fingers reached up and clung to the windshield. Napoleon’s hand reached out and took Illya’s out from its protective fortress of quilts. He pressed it to his lips. He placed an arm around his shoulders and gently pulled Illya close to him, mindful of his injuries. He kissed his cheek making those intense blue eyes blink.

“Tell me what you see, Illya?”

Illya took in a painful breath. Then released it slowly. Napoleon waited patiently for his brooding partner to gather his thoughts. 

“What do I see? I see a world where pain is touted as love and beautiful children’s lives are snuffed out before they have had a chance to live. Where wolves run rampant and little boys in calico must hide and hold on to each other in order to survive.”

Napoleon tilted his head a bit to better see his partner’s face. Illya reached for Napoleon’s cheek and caressed it. Napoleon gave a quiet gasp as he saw Illya’s frozen heart crack. Sunbeams burst from the fissures nearly blinding him with their intensity. 

“I see you.” Illya nodded as his composure failed him and his voice wavered. “I see your own painful past, dangerous present and your hopes for the future. I see your heart. Caring courageous, loving.” Illya sky blue eyes roamed tenderly over Napoleon’s handsome features as if he had just seen him for the first time.

“I see _you,_ Napoleon Solo,” Illya smiled.

Napoleon smiled back, took up the coffee cup and pressed it to Illya’s lips. Illya swallowed and sighed softly as he was warmed from the inside out. They both finished the cup and Napoleon put the thermos away. Napoleon pulled Illya even closer and tucked him back in his quilts, leaving one hand free. 

He started the car, put it in gear and headed out on the gravel drive. Napoleon opened a candy bar and handed it to Illya. Then slipped his arm around the back of the seat, rested his hand on Illya’s head. He played with the strands of living sunshine in his blond hair. Illya lay his head against Napoleon’s shoulder and munched contentedly on the sweet chocolate.

Napoleon began to whistle a Beatles tune. He didn’t need to know the words.

~~~O~~~

Listen to me one more time, how can I get through?  
Can't you try to see that I'm trying to get to you?  
Open up your eyes now, tell me what you see  
It is no surprise now, what you see is me

~~~O~~~

 

TBC  
Stay tuned for more (sigh) Napoleon, (sigh, sigh) Illya, (sigh, sigh, sigh) and The Beatles. (Squeee!)


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